


Taboo

by Jabberwockette



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-06 06:02:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jabberwockette/pseuds/Jabberwockette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some words are more powerful than others. It's all about timing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ...and then this happened. It is pure, unadulterated wordsmut. I'm almost embarrassed.
> 
> Almost.

So many things she'd expected, hoped for, and still, he managed to surprise her.  
  
He'd been shy at first, endearing, almost frustratingly slow, but he listened, watched, observed, adjusted. He noticed the little things, of course he did. It was what he did, what made him so good at this life of service. The way her breath caught -- not in pain, no, certainly not -- when he pulled at her hair a little harder than he intended. The way she responded by clutching at his shoulders, fingers digging in to his strong, broad back, pulling him closer.  
  
They made love, and he learned. They learned together.  
  
Tonight, he gripped her to him and groaned. "Oh-- oh Mrs.-- oh. My love, yes… so tight… your-- you-- "  
  
Tight, slick warmth now surrounding him, squeezing him gently, her gasp — _Oh, Mr. Carson! Oh —_ still ringing in his ears.  
  
\-- her -- her _cunt --_ the thought echoed in his mind and in that moment he very nearly lost control and drove into her. He couldn't hold back these shocking, crude words from his thoughts, not here, not now, not when buried deep in her. But he would never say them aloud, could not, no, never.  
  
He wanted so badly to-- to-- _fuck_ her. Hard. Fast. He couldn't, it wasn't _proper_ , it was… could he?  
  
He held on, barely, held back, moved with her slowly, but lord, such words, such thoughts. Vulgar and so powerful, and in the right moment, here, with her, no longer coarse but intimate and strong. He trembled with it. And she was so tight, so _wet_ for _him_ and he knew he could never think such things again _(oh fuck yes her cunt)_ and not relive this moment, joined with her in agonizing, delicious bliss.

* * *

Thick and hard between her legs. Pressing, inside, out, the slow friction and hardness and slick heat and his quiet groan and such _need_ …  she could feel his need for her, still tightly held in check even as…

"Oh God, yes, so… my man, my-- your-- more… pleasemoreyes I--"

\-- his _cock,_ so solid, filling her, christ, moving against her, inside her. This was what she needed, yes, this firmness, this man, all of this. She relished in the delicious, uncouth thoughts to go with this improper, perfect deed. _His cock. **Fucking** me, oh GOD… OH._

She was grinding against him now and she hadn't even realized it until he grunted hard and his hands, those beautiful, strong, meticulous hands that were made for service clutched at her hips and pulled her tighter to him. He drove into her deep and hard and _fuck, yes, please, yes._  
  
"More, oh, Ch-- Charles, yes. YES. F-- **FUCK.** Fuck me. God. Yes. More. Harder. PLEASE."

* * *

…and he came undone completely. Such a shocking, unexpected thing from her pretty, sweet, proper mouth, as if she could hear his own thoughts. They met thrust for thrust and grip for grip now, taking, gasping together until neither knew nor cared who might hear or know, until the perfect, agonizing pleasure peaked and they fell over the edge, her first, him somehow managing to hold back until he, too, went blank in a tangle of profanity _(fuck, yes, love, yes)_ and hot breath and her legs wrapped around him and four strong hands clutching wherever, however they could find purchase.  
  
And then he was spilling into her as she took him, all of him, with her, _fucking him and christ, yes, her cunt, tightening around his cock._ Lips, hard and wet and desperate and they came together and apart and together once more and he knew that he was home.  
  
No, he was no gentleman, and she no lady. As much as they were the best of proper servants by day, and sometimes the gentlest of lovers at night, tonight they would couple like this, all heat and slick firmness and earthy desire, taking from one another.  
  
Here, tonight, they would learn something new, and allow those profane, perfect words and thoughts to drift in and out of the moment, taking them higher, harder with anticipation, with need, with want, with love, with no regrets.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't expect this to have any more to it, and suddenly, this arrived. These two. I swear. What's an author to do?

She woke slowly, groggily. Pleasantly sore in all the right places.  
  
 _Warm. Comfortable._  
  
She blinked her eyes open a bit. Squinted. The room was dark, save for the moonlight streaming through the window. The fire had died to almost nothing.  
  
 _Hmmm. Nose. Itchy._  
  
She couldn't feel her left arm or hand. That was more confusing than alarming right now. She scratched her nose with her right hand instead.  
  
She tried to piece together thoughts through the haze of warmth and sleepiness. She was… not in her own room, for one thing. Couldn't quite remember where she was, though.  
  
Someone — someone _not her_ — snored softly. On her left.  
  
 _Still too comfortable to move. Mmmm._  
  
Come to think of it, something was pinning her at the waist. She reached down and prodded exploratorily. An arm. Not hers — her left arm was still unaccounted for. This one was bigger. Masculine. Him.  
  
 _Ah. Right. Starting to come back to me._  
  
 _(Sweet warm slick sweat, hard and oh FUCK yes love--)_  
  
She flushed at the memory. Wanton, she'd been. Desperate. And he'd followed her, taken her, hard, let go, just like she'd wanted.  
  
He'd learned something new. About her. About them. They'd learned together.  
  
Her sense of smell was kicking in. _Oh, that's lovely._ His pomade. _Mmmm, yes._ And the other scents of him, mingling with hers.  
  
Another snore. _Oh dear._ He really was asleep. But she really, really needed her left arm back now. She patted the arm draped over her. He didn't budge. She tapped him harder.  
  
"Charles?" she said gently. "Charles. Can you turn over? I can't feel my--"  
  
The arm across her tightened slightly and warm lips nuzzled against her shoulder. His breath tickled.  
  
"Mmphf," he said. Another snore.  
  
She sighed. It was such a shame to wake him completely, but…  
  
"Charles." A little louder now. Nothing.  
  
"Mr. Carson," she said firmly, this time at a normal speaking volume. "You need to wake up."  
  
She felt rather than heard his breath catch. "Huh? I-- wha--?"  
  
"Shhh. It's just me."  
  
"Mrs. H-- Oh. Elsie. You're-- what is the time? Shouldn't you be--?"  
  
"Shhh, love. No, it's fine, I can stay for a bit yet. But could you… I mean… I can't feel my arm."  
  
"Oh. I-- Yes. Sorry. We must have-- I mean--" he didn't finish the thought as the tips of his ears turned pink. "Sorry." He lifted himself up on one elbow enough to allow her to retrieve her arm from under him. He did not, however, let go of her waist.

She gave her arm a shake and began to feel it coming back to life. She smiled at him. Traced along his jaw with still-tingling fingers.

"--I believe the words you're looking for are, 'screwed until we were spent and promptly collapsed in a self-satisfied heap'?"  

He barked a laugh. "I-- er-- yes. Well. You continue to surprise." He met her eyes with a mixture of pride and endearing embarassment. He cleared his throat. "It was quite-- I mean-- you-- we were--"  
  
She pressed two fingers to his lips. "Shhhh. I know."  
  
He took a deep breath. Let it out slowly.  
  
"My God, Elsie."  
  
"I know." She brushed the stray curling lock of hair from his forehead — pomade could only tame it for so long — and then pulled him into a kiss. She felt the tenseness leave him. After a moment, he shuffled down the bed just enough to be able to rest his head between her breasts. He nuzzled against her, let out a quiet groan.  
  
"I'm not sure how well I'll be navigating the stairs tomorrow, Mrs. Hughes."  
  
"You?" she retorted incredulously. "I'm not certain I'll be able to walk in a straight line come morning, Mr. Carson." Her hands stroked his head, fingers ran through his hair, massaged his scalp, neck, shoulders.  
  
"Good," he sighed happily.

He closed his eyes and inhaled. Kissed the soft skin along the underside of her breasts. Tasted the salt of her on his lips and tongue. Held her tight and allowed himself to drift once more.  
  
"Charles Carson, you are a ridiculous--"  
  
"Mmmmhmm."  
  
"--sentimental--"  
  
"Mmmmm."  
  
"-- _fool_ of a man."  
  
She felt his smile against her. The arm that was wrapped around her shifted just enough that a hand came to rest on her bottom.  
  
"Shhhh." He pressed his lips tenderly to her breast once more and nestled in against her. "I know."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh God, they won't stop. Killing me. They are killing me. (Don't ever let them stop.)

The backs of his thighs were protesting ferociously today.  
  
He was moving stiffly, that was for sure. He hoped it wasn't too obvious. He was in good shape, he thought, for a man his age, used to climbing many stairs, carrying heavy trays, standing for long hours.  
  
Last night, though, had exercised a few muscles that didn't generally see quite that much action during the regular course of a butler's duties.  
  
 _And I wouldn't trade it for all the stiff muscles in the world._  
  
With every step, he thought of _her._

* * *

 _Oh, Lord, that hurts._  
  
Her thighs. Ouch. Dammit all to hell. Well, she was just going to have to suffer through it today. She was damned if she was going to let on. Especially not to _him._ He always became so smug when she complained of soreness after such… _vigorous_ exercise.

 _Insufferable man._  
  
She sighed wistfully. _My beautiful, ridiculous, insufferable man._

* * *

So proper, they were, standing in the hallway in the mid-afternoon, staff bustling around them, each person heading off to their respective duties. So utterly, completely proper. She loved this. The act. The restraint. The secrecy. Lived for it, if she were honest.  
  
"And how is your day fairing, Mr. Carson? I've hardly seen you since breakfast."  
  
"Oh, not bad, Mrs. Hughes. Not bad at all. I find I'm a little sore here and there today, for some reason."  
  
"Don't tell me age is catching up to you?"  
  
His face betrayed nothing. Of course not. He was very good at his job.  
  
"I beg your pardon! Heavens no, I'm fit as a fiddle, Mrs. Hughes. I think I simply—" He allowed himself an innocuous smile at her. "— slept in an odd position last night, that's all."  
  
"Ah." She looked down, returned his smile with a beguiling one of her own. The things that woman could say with just a look and no words… he thought he'd never tire of the infinite expressional possibilities of her face.  
  
"And you're well today, I hope?"  
  
He was fishing, of course. Telling her about his aches and pains? More like hoping she'd throw him a line to hang on to for the rest of the day, so that he knew he was on her mind like she was on his. _Silly fool. As if I could think of anything else._  
  
"It's only," he continued, "you retired earlier than usual last night, something about needing to put your feet up for a bit?"  
  
She looked back up at him sharply at that, eyes afire. He pressed on. "You _were_ able to get some time off your feet last night, I hope."

"Oh, yes. A good night's sleep with one's feet up can cure many ills." _Oh, you'll pay for that one, mister, make no mistake._  
  
The hallway had finally emptied around them, all the staff busy as bees elsewhere.  
  
"Glad to hear it, Mrs. Hughes. Glad to hear it. Well, his Lordship's rung for me. I'll be in the library if I'm needed."  
  
"Of course, Mr. Carson."

* * *

Rounding the corner, John Bates stopped short. Had he just seen — no. He rejected the thought immediately. Not possible. He was imagining things. The long-delayed newlywed bliss of finally being able to sleep next to Anna _(and wake up next to her, by God)_ was giving him the most peculiarly vivid daydreams.

He shook his head to clear it. _Keep it together, John, I know married life is good, but that's just going a little too far._  
  
Because he could have sworn that he'd just seen Mrs. Hughes pinch Mr. Carson on the bum as he'd started up the stairs.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why yes, I did write this around that one single line, why do you ask?

He'd barely made it through the door to the servants' stairs before he was loosening his tie. What a day. What an _evening._ Still. They'd pulled through admirably. He was the last downstairs, save Mr Bates. His Lordship had finally clapped him on the back and told him it was "Time to take a load off, old chap." Carson shook his head and sighed. If he was not mistaken — and on this, he rarely was — His Lordship was currently three sheets to the wind and would probably not be wanting much breakfast tomorrow.  
  
He nearly collapsed in his seat in the servant's hall. He leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment. Bliss. The only thing that could make it better was…  
  
"There you are, Mr. Carson." He felt the tension truly begin to leave him at the sound of her voice. "Finally let you go for the night, I see. Mrs. Patmore kept back some pie for you for when you finally made it down."  
  
Mrs. Hughes placed the plate in front of him, then poured him a generous glass of wine to go with it. She took her place next to him and poured herself one as well.  
  
"Her Ladyship sends thanks, particularly to you and Mrs. Patmore. They're well aware that the day was a challenge. But it was well met."  
  
"Yes. And was His Lordship happy with dessert?"  
  
"His Lordship sang its praises with such effluence, he would likely have sought out Mrs. Patmore, swung her around and kissed her, had Her Ladyship not insisted on restraint."  
  
She raised a quizzical eyebrow.  
  
"On a related topic, I will need to look into the outstanding brandy order tomorrow."  
  
"Ah."  
  
He tucked into the pie gratefully, making a mental note to thank Mrs. Patmore in the morning. Mrs. Hughes sipped her wine in comfortable silence and they tried to unwind, if only a little. There would be no chat in her sitting room or his pantry tonight and _certainly_ no… extra-curricular activities tonight. Everyone was exhausted, and tomorrow was scant hours away.  
  
"Would you like a bite?" he asked quietly. He was offering her some of his pie. She looked around the table. Only Anna was there, waiting for Bates to come down after finishing with His Lordship for the night. She was well-engrossed in her sewing, though.  
  
"My heavens. You, offering someone food from your plate? That doesn't happen often."  
  
"As you know, I'm a growing lad."  
  
She snorted in a most undignified manner. "There's only one fork. It's fine, I had some earlier."  
  
He looked quickly down at Anna to see that she was still not looking in their direction, and took up a fork full of pie. He offered it to her again silently, brows raised. She smiled sleepily at him and nodded in acquiescence. Instead of handing over the fork, though, he moved it closer to her. No words were exchanged, but the conversation continued nonetheless.  
  
 _Go on then, lovely. I'll feed you._  
  
A wide-eyed glance down the table and back to him. _Charles! We're not alone!_  
  
A slight tilt of the head. A twitch at the corners of his mouth. _True. And? It's only Anna._  
  
A hard blink and a stare. _Still! Are you crazy?_  
  
A slight waggle of his eyebrows. An imperceptible movement of the fork closer to her. _Possibly. Are you going to eat the pie or not?_  
  
A roll of the eyes followed by another glance down the table. _Oh, for goodness' sake!_ She leaned over and quickly ate the bite of pie directly from the fork as he held it for her.  
  
A quick look away, a sip of wine, and she straightened herself in her chair. _Happy now? Ridiculous man._  
  
A smile and a wink. _For now._  
  
She clucked her tongue at him quietly, but smiled nevertheless. Hopeless, he was. They settled back into companionable silence.  
  
"Well," came the voice of Mr. Bates as he entered from the hall, "That's His Lordship sorted for the night. I think we'll be heading out. Early day tomorrow."  
  
"Are you sure you wouldn't like to stay here tonight, the both of you?" She hated to think of them walking to their cottage at this hour, even if it was a lovely night. "It's so late. Your old rooms are still made up."  
  
Bates and Anna shared a glance. "Thank you Mrs. Hughes, but it's worth the walk to have my own bed," he replied. Anna smiled demurely.  
  
"Ah. Yes. Well. I think we can understand that." Mrs. Hughes had a definite twinkle in her eyes. Mr. Carson was studiously _not_ looking up from his pie. The tops of his ears were slightly pink.  
  
"Mr. Carson, did I hear you say this afternoon that the brandy shipment still hadn't arrived? Shall I mention it to His Lordship tomorrow morning?"  
  
"Oh, yes, thank you, Mr. Bates, that would be helpful. His preferred brand has been in short supply this year. I will try to call in some favours, but there's no telling when it will arrive or if we'll get the full order. It's possible His Lordship will know of other strings that could be pulled."  
  
"I'll mention it, then. He'll be highly motivated. If His Lordship doesn't have his brandy on-hand, I suspect we'll all end up... feeling the pinch in the end, so to speak. Wouldn't you say?"

Mrs. Hughes coughed with a mouthful of wine and attempted not to choke. The butler went wide-eyed, the fork containing his last bite of pie frozen half-way to his mouth. He seemed to be trying to form words, but appeared to have momentarily lost the power of speech. Anna looked between the three with curiosity.  
  
Mr. Bates smiled. "Well. We'll see you in the morning. Sleep well, both of you."  
  
Carson nodded politely, not entirely trusting his voice yet, while Mrs. Hughes managed a decorious "Good night, Mr. Bates, Anna." Once the younger couple were out of earshot, he cleared his throat.  
  
"You don't think…"  
  
"No, no, I'm sure not. And besides, even if they suspect, it _is_ only Anna and Mr. Bates."

* * *

Anna and John made it as far as the back door before she couldn't help herself any longer. "So, Mr. Bates…" she said, smirking.  
  
"Yes, Mrs. Bates?"  
  
"Just what was _that_ all about?"  
  
"Just checking something," he said with a mischievous smile. "Put your coat on, I'll tell you on the way."  
  
"Well, if it's about those two, I have a little story for you, as well."  
  
"Now you have me intrigued." He offered her his arm. "Shall we, Mrs. Bates?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot even TELL you what all I should be doing right now instead of dealing with these two idiots. I just… yeah. Halp. I don't even... I mean, WHAT THE HELL ARE THEY DOING TO ME?? I used to be such a good girl. Hush, you, I was.

"Say it, love."  
  
"Elsie…"  
  
"Please, Charles…"  
  
"God, woman," he groaned. "Such a bad influence on me."  
  
"Shhh. Come now, my heart… I can feel you want to." One hand toyed lightly with the hair at the back of his neck, the other tracing his jawline where the hint of rough evening stubble was coming in. "Let go for me."  
  
He tightened his grip on her hips and leaned in close to her. Nuzzled her neck. Nibbled delicately at the spot below her ear that tasted of salt and her. "I want you," he murmured, losing himself in it as she was asking him to.  
  
"Oh yes, love…"  
  
"I want… I need…" He took a deep breath, let it out, closed his eyes. He knew what she wanted. His senses were overwhelmed with her, the feel of her, the smell, the sound of her soft mewls of pleasure, the taste of her skin. He felt it overtake him completely, and…  
  
"I want to _fuck_ you, woman."  
  
" _God,_ yes…"  
  
A large, warm hand was cupping her bottom now, kneading, slowly working her dress up as he practically purred in her ear.  
  
"Take you hard. Over my desk. Dress up to your waist."  
  
Her hands were tangled in his hair now, guiding him to her. She took his bottom lip between hers and teased it, nibbled, bit lightly and smiled at his sharp breath.  
  
He was desperately aroused now. The way she was reacting to him, egging him on, Christ. He'd never imagined it like this before. Well. Perhaps he'd imagined it. He just never imagined it would _happen_.

* * *

_She had always come to him in the dark, when the house was finally, blissfully quiet. She'd slip into the small bed beside him and he would hold her close. Most nights, that was all they did. Some nights, holding her lead to gentle kisses in the dark and wandering hands. Soft whispers of love and assent became quiet gasps of pleasure as they came together. He'd been so afraid of hurting her, of frightening her away so that she never came back. It didn't escape his notice that she gasped a little louder, responded a little more surely when he held her more firmly, when he was closest to losing control. But still, on those nights, they held back something, always unhurried, so sweet and tender._   
  
_Until that last time._   
  
_She'd come to him earlier than usual that night. He'd been sitting up reading, the light still on. She'd crossed the room before he could even put his book up, straddled him on the bed without turning off the light and kissed him, mouth open, tongue coaxing his lips to part for her._   
  
_"Mrs-- My love, what--?"_   
  
_"Shhh. I need you like this tonight. Please."_   
  
_She'd been on fire._   
  
_And so he had learned to let go. For her._

* * *

Now it felt like something had been unleashed between them. She hadn't even changed before she'd come to him tonight. He was still in his evening livery, had barely been in his room long enough to remove his jacket when she'd slipped in, locking the door behind her. She must have been waiting for him to come upstairs, he realized. She'd tugged loose the white tie without a word and used both ends to pull him him to her. And now here they were —  
  
"Moaning for it," he growled, pressing hard against her as her strong hands pulled him impossibly closer. "Begging, tasty profanities from that sweet mouth…"  
  
A thought flicked through his mind. No, he couldn't, surely... _oh, the hell with it_ , he thought, and before he could reconsider, he smacked her bottom. Rather firmly. Her eyes flew open and she gasped, felt a veritable flood of slick warmth between her legs.  
  
"Charles!"  
  
He was now regarding her devilishly. "You started this, pet. I do believe I have a bruise from where you pinched me yesterday. Time for you to turn the other cheek."  
  
She feigned indignation. "Why, Mr. Carson, I never!"  
  
"You should," he retorted, waggling his eyebrows at her. "It's rather fun."  
  
Her eyes widened further and her mouth opened, but no sound came out. It dawned on him quite suddenly the turn their teasing had just taken.

They blinked at each other in surprise.  
  
"I can't believe I just said that."  
  
"Don't make promises if you don't intend to follow through, Mr. Carson," she admonished. The dimples that accompanied this were the final straw needed to drive him mad. He promptly scooped her legs out from under her and lifted her into his arms. She had to bite her tongue to keep from letting out a yelp that would surely have woken everyone on this side of the hall.

"I suspect," he said amiably, as he crossed the room in no more than two strides, "that I am _actually_ going to have to put you over my knee one of these days, woman."

"Oh, my lovely man," she said with a low laugh, arms around his neck, "you're certainly welcome to _try_."

He kissed her once swiftly, then plopped her unceremoniously on to the bed and kicked off his shoes, made quick work of his cufflinks and vest. As he began unbuttoning the stiff, starched white shirt, he spared a look heavenward. "Dear Lord, save me from this wild creature…"  
  
She had settled back into the bed, enjoying the view of him shedding the first layer of clothing, knowing they had all night to get through the rest. "A little late for saving, I think."  
  
Once his vest and shirt were tossed haphazardly over the chair, he wasted no time in pulling her back to the edge of the bed, causing her skirts to ride up.  
  
"Well in that case, madam, you might leave your stockings and garters on for a bit this evening. Your shoes, too, if you're so inclined." He gave her a classic butler-appraising once over. "I'm afraid the rest of this, though, will simply _have_ to go."  
  
"My goodness, Mr. Carson." She was a little breathless. "One gets the impression you've considered this scenario."  
  
He replied with a wink, and began tackling the buttons of her dress with surprising efficiency.  
  
He'd always been a fast learner.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some things… are worth taking their time. I've been tinkering with this one long enough, time to let them have their fun.

It was rare that he was awake while she was sleeping.

"What are we going to do about this, eh, love?"

She stirred, but didn't wake.

Of course they couldn't continue like this. It was one thing when it was a quiet, understood occasional thing, her slipping to his room late in the night and curling up against him. Simple companionship. It filled a need they both had, efficiently and without fuss ( _well, not much, anyhow)_. They did this together just like they did everything else, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

It _was_ the most natural thing in the world to hold her like this. If their quiet, usually-platonic nights together in this bed had occasionally led to fulfillment of another kind, who was he to argue? It worked out well for them both. This was not something sordid and short-term, any more than anything else in their lives. They had fallen, slowly and irrevocably, into a faithful, long-term partnership. There had been no concerns of… complications… on her part, not at her age, and since this had started, neither of them felt the need to seek companionship elsewhere. A few hours together here in the night had never interfered with their days. Gentle and tender. Quiet and complete and perfect. Under the bright light of day, they were who they had always been — ever-professional, ever-faithful servants, the well-oiled team of butler and housekeeper, Carson and Hughes, with no one the wiser. If anyone knew how to be discrete, it was the downstairs heads of the house.

They loved each other, of course. They didn't say it _(well, not much, anyhow)_ , but they had an understanding. When it was time, they would retire together, marry and live out their days in a nearby cottage. They'd never discussed it. There was no need. What they had… it had been enough for them both for some time.

But something had shifted. She had started pushing, needing more, _taking_ more. For his part, he had surprised himself at being more than happy to oblige, without question, despite the risks. Now he even found himself… _wanting_ it. _Allowing_ himself to want her, and at the most inappropriate times, too. Lord, he'd been _this_ close to hiking up her skirts and taking her over the table in the servant's hall the other night, Anna and Bates be damned.

It was absolute madness. Insanity. They were going to give themselves away in no time flat if they continued to carry on like this, of that he had no doubt. It was one thing for Anna and Bates to know. Even Beryl. They could handle the good-natured teasing they would get from those three. But if Barrow got wind of it — just the thought made him scowl. He didn't believe for a moment that either of them would be fired, but things would end up twisted and wrong and full of… well, there would be an _atmosphere_.

She especially hated an atmosphere, which is why it surprised him so (pleasantly surprised, yes, he couldn't deny that, not for a moment) that she had taken them in this direction.

He would leave Downton for her. Leave service completely, if he had to. He knew that now. There was simply no question, if it came to the job or her. Something about breaking down some the final taboos of this relationship had made that crystal clear to him.

He kissed her hair as she continued to sleep. An arm and a leg were draped across him. She nuzzled in more deeply. _What brought all this on then, hmm, my lovely?_

"You think too loud," she mumbled against his shoulder.

"Sorry, love. I didn't mean to wake you."

"I'll survive it," she murmured. "You're a very comfortable pillow."

He chuckled softly. "And which of my thoughts is loud enough for you to hear in your sleep, hmmm?"

There was no hesitation in her reply. "The one where you're wondering what we do next."

_Of course she knows. She always knows._ "Hmmm. Well. It had crossed my mind."

She shifted a bit and blinked up at him with sleepy eyes. "And why this is all happening now…"

"Well, yes…"

"…and why we both can't seem to help ourselves…"

His eyebrows inched higher. "…that too…"

She kissed his chest and inhaled deeply. _Mmmmmmmm._ "…and how long we'll be able to keep this up before the other shoe drops."

"See, you're actually starting to scare me a little now."

She smiled up at him smugly. "Good."

They nestled in together again. Neither spoke for a long moment.

"So, Mr. Carson…"

"So, Mrs. Hughes?"

"What do _you_ think we should do?"

He sighed, wrapping an arm around her more snugly. "Well… after careful consideration…"

"Naturally."

"…after careful consideration, I think if we continue on this way, it's only a matter of time before we're caught." His large warm hand finally settled, cupping one breast lightly.

Her fingers intertwined with his. "Anna and Mr. Bates already suspect."

"Yes, I believe they do. And I think if we're caught on any terms but our own, there will almost certainly be a _scene._ " He nestled his face into her hair and inhaled.

"Hrm. Yes. And we do dislike scenes."

"Indeed." His voice was muffled. She could feel him move aside the hair from the back of her neck and she sighed in quiet bliss.

"So what then?"

She felt his lips, so light, almost not there, brushing against the back of her neck. "Well, _not_ continuing is simply not an option."

She smiled broadly. "Good to hear. You almost had me worried there for a moment." The fingers at her breast flicked lightly over a nipple and she shivered.

"Good," he whispered, nuzzling her shoulder and neck with light kisses. "I should hate to be too predictable."

She laughed at that, turned a bit and kissed him on the chin. She looked him in the eyes now. "So?"

His look was serious, but tender. "So I think we need to ensure that _when_ it gets out, it's on our terms."

"Agreed. Any ideas about that?"

His face softened, and he kissed the tip of her nose. "One or two, ranging from tame to positively outrageous. But first, a serious question."

She nodded, waiting.

"Why now? Please don't misunderstand, I'm not complaining, but… we never talked about it before. Never needed more than what we had. What's changed?"

She traced the lines of his face with her fingers. "I think I realized something. Even though we had an… understanding… I think…?"

The unspoken question was in her eyes, and he quickly dispelled any doubts. He nodded and kissed her forehead. "Yes?"

"…I realized I didn't want to be too old to enjoy this once we had the chance."

She turned and curled back into him, back to front, and pulled his arm back over her, placing his hand at her breast. "Passionate love is wasted on the young, Mr. Carson. They don't appreciate it, in all its infinite complexities. I loved you long before I lusted for you."

He pulled her close and they settled in to one another. His hand drifted absent-mindedly along her side, from breast to hip and back again, as they wrapped themselves in contented silence.

After a minute, she felt his breath tickle against her ear. "So you lust after me, do you?"

Her bare bottom fit snugly into his lap as they lay together. She wriggled and felt him stir against her. "What do you think?"

He pressed into her backside, rubbing himself against her, slowly but surely hardening.

"I think the feeling is mutual, pet," he growled quietly in her ear.

He encouraged her to lift a leg up a little, just enough that he could… _yes, just like that._ His hardening length slipped between her strong thighs. He sighed in satisfaction. Rather than rush to enter her, he began to tease her slick warmth. He felt her exhale sharply as he withdrew and then returned again. Slowly, deliberately, he spread her wetness for them both. Again. The muscles of her thighs tensed around him each time he slid between them.

_Christ. This woman will be the death of me. But I will die a blissfully happy man._

They moved together like this, unhurried, relishing every sensation, every sweet pang of pleasure. When he thrust just a little harder, the head of his cock pressed firmly against-

"Oh god, Ch- Charles… right… there. _Please._ " She gripped his arm tightly and whimpered.

"I think you're _incredibly_ wet for me, Mrs. Hughes." The scent of her was almost enough to make him delirious. "And I think you love it when I do _this-_ " he thrust harder once again, causing them both to shudder.

His voice was shaking with the effort of keeping control. "...and I think you almost cannot take it when I do _this._ " His hand snaked lower and parted her folds while he continued the exquisite, agonizing torture. His fingers found their prize and she moaned, tensed further around him, adding pressure to the sweet, slow, firm friction.

He couldn't help but move faster now… _god her cunt she is so wet, so… so… calm, man, keep control… the French have a word for this what is… ah, yes, 'frottage'. God bless the bloody French and their bloody perverted language._

They were both breathing heavily now, desperately, and still they continued, taking their pleasure from one another until it was nearly unbearable. His other hand had worked into her hair and he gripped it now, trying hard not to pull but barely holding on to his senses as she surrounded him, squeezed him tightly. They began to give themselves over to the delicious madness at the end of this.

"Oh, you're close, aren't you? Come for me, beautiful. Come like this, _Christ_ , Elsie, _yes..."_

"Oh… love… oh _fuck. Yes!_ "

His lips were hot on her shoulder and neck as he felt her stiffen around him. Her breath caught, and with the next thrust he entered her and held himself there, buried completely in her, slick fingers still working against her as she shattered in his arms. He lost himself to her then, the perfect release suddenly rushing over him, through him, filling her, and they both knew that this could never be enough.

Such lust.

Such love.

_Never enough._


End file.
